Ireland's Complaint of the army's hypocrisy. With his Excellencies entering unconquered LONDON: In a Discourse between two friends Donatus and Perigrin. With the slighting of the Communicable Line.  Donat. 
WEll met friend Perigrin, from whence cam'st thou,  Perig. 
From wretched Ireland, I landed now;  Donat. 
How stands the state of that distressed Nation,  Perig. 
'Tis almost lost, a powerful inundation  
Hath overwhelmed it in a Sea of woe?  
And I am hither come to let you know  
How much they thank you for each fast and prayer  
In their behalf, if they could live by air  
Without the help of money or of men,  
They would requite your breath with breath again.  Donat. 
We have been ever ready to relieve them  
In words not having other aid to give them.  Perig. 
'Tis true indeed, but give me leave to tell ye  
Words are to weak to fill an empty belly  Donat. 
We meant our Army should their loss restore  Perig. 
When the Steed's stolen, you'll shut the stable door.  Donat. 
The trumpet sounds, stand by my friend here's one,  
Whose conquest must through London streets be known.  Perig. 
Who's this that comes in triumph, is the war  Donat. 
Now finished. 'Tis that famous conqueror  
Sir Thomas Fairfax, Whose victorious hand  
Makes England stoop to his supreme command,  Perig. 
Is he a King or Pope, or can there be  
Another that dares own supremacy,  Donat. 
He is neither King nor Pope, yet he is one  
That altars government, pulls Bishops down,  
And Elders to, the hated Presbyters,  
Seem now as odious as the Bishops were.  
He sets up a new light which doth arise  
Beyond the apprehension of weak eyes  
For these are a peculiar people grown,  
A real Priesthood, these are they alone  
Which are of all believers, truly sainted  
And every preaching soldier is acquainted  
With Jesus Christ, who offers grace to all  
Yet none may come unless the Father call,  
Who fills them with the Spirit in such measure  
That they may fall, and rise at their own pleasure.  
Repentance is a superstitious thing  
And 'tis as frivolous to have a King,  
One musters legions of foul crimes within  
And makes discovery of each secret sin:  
The other doth not bear the sword in vain  
Whereby he should his regal power maintain,  
It was not given him to be a scourge  
To good men, but the wicked land to purge  
From cruel humours, which they understand  
Who wrested it by force out of his hand,  
Not knowing who resisteth power shall  
Procure themselves damnation sad withal,  
The King's word is with power, than who may  
Tax him with what he please to do or say:  
Suppose the King were wicked is it fit  
To tell him so, God's Word doth not permit  
Such insolence, but doth enforce us rather  
To yield obedience to our Kingly Father  
But now that holy Writ is of no force,  
Our government is changed from bad to worse.  Perig. 
Pray what became of that strict Covenant,  
Betwixt the Brethren and your Parliament.  Donat. 
(Alas) they made so many Oaths before,  
And broke them all, 'tis but one trespass more,  
They'll add yet to the former, for where sin  
Aboundeth most, there grace must needs begin,  Perig. 
But do your Londoners not blush to see  
A plain discovery of their perjury.  
How shall a stranger trust their word or oath  
When for advantage they will forfeit both?  Donat. 
Know they have trusted in so many gods,  
Which in the end will prove revengeful rods  
For whosoever doth too much rely  
One any human help, doth deify  
The means, wherein they trust to find redress,  
Seeth none but God can free us in distress:  
Poor England was oppressed, and therefore went  
To seek deliverance in a Parliament  
The which pretended a true Reformation;  
Which was begun with a deep Protestation:  
But Oaths are words, and words are all but wind,  
Soon after they themselves in covenant bind,  
To aid the Parliament against their King;  
And to that end they Plate and Money bring  
Wherewith great Forts and Bulworks were erected  
The whilst poor Ireland was quite neglected,  
The tithe of what they one their rampires spend  
Might free some thousand wretched souls, and end  
Their cruel sufferings, but 'tis too late,  
Pray God their fall prove not proud England's fate.  Perig. 
But when this conquering Army had subdued,  
The King and that malignant multitude,  
They might have gone and set that Nation free,  
And there be crowned with glorious victory.  Donat. 
Why, these are they, which are our faith's directors,  
To seek out Heaven, these are our King's protectors.  
Whose meaning is to fix him on his Throne,  
In time, but first they will be paid their own  
Arrears, nor do they purpose to disband  
Whilst all the Law remaineth in their hand,  
The States are as unwilling to restore  
The power they have usurped six years or more,  
Besides some inward guilt doth whisper this  
And tells them they have done some things amiss,  
And if they should be lesser, than they are  
There is a retribution day I fear,  
Wherein they shall be summoned to make good  
By satisfaction those sad streams of blood  
The which by their commission was exhausted,  
And those huge sums of money vainly wasted,  
The Londoners have now the only cause,  
(Who must be subject to new Lords, new Laws)  
To fetch their King, but they were overruled,  
And now begin to fear they have been fooled  
Betwixt Sir Thomas, and the Parliament;  
Nor do they now their doings well resent.  
The Forts and Guards are in the army's power,  
And so is the Militia and the Tower:  
And yet the King remains no better still  
Then a poor prisoner to the Armies will.  
And thus we see no comfort can be given  
But what proceeds from the great King of Heaven,  
Who doth man's extremity foresee,  
By which he works his opportunity:  
And will I hope, when things are at the worst,  
Restore them better than they were at first.   

Nulla dies sine linea. Or the Slighting of the Works.  

ANd must the hedge be pulled down?  
Of this blessed Reformation?  
And may the Maids to Islington,  
Pass free without invasion?   

Now (Noddles) to your cells again  
Breeds vermin to be idle:  
Black Tom will teach you another strain,  
he'll make you champ the bridle.   

And hay let us sing, and the bells merry ring  
The King of the Line is abolished  
Edwards is sped, the Birds they are fled  
The Cage must be demolished.   

Home Sutlers to your holes again  
Pack to your nasty allies:  
Your Summer-houses long enough  
You've had, go try your tallies.   

The Excize-man frighted quite away,  
Butchers you need not prize them;  
You need not lift sheep o'er the Works,  
For fear they should Excize them.   

And hay?  
Manwring is fast enough in hold,  
A sad and true presagement  
That against the old decrepit Line  
There was some strong engagement.   

You Citizens you need not fear  
While you are in your quarter:  
Your Journeymen should ware for ware  
With your Madonna's barter.   

And hay let us sing, and the bells merry ring,  
The King of the Line is abolished:  
Edward is sped, the Birds they are fled,  
The Cage must be demolished.   
FINIS.